Alright
by Spazzcat-Katori
Summary: Alternate Title: An Ounce of Prevention  No one knows that he's not alright. But they'll find out.  Oneshot


Gone was the gentle grin, replaced by something that curved the mouth and showed the teeth and claimed to be a smile, but was far too sharp and twisted and cold, like a tangle of barbed wire coiled across icy ground. Violet eyes that had always seemed as soft and welcoming as a cluster of lilacs or scattered clouds at sunset had become hard and flat and frightening, like the play of light along the curve of an expertly-handled sword. Sunlight from broad windows gleamed off scratched glasses, a crack in one lens snagging the rays and throwing them roughly off course, the wearer's movements resulting in a strobing glint that rose and fell in eerie synchronicity with the reflections off the barrels of the two well-polished handguns whose sights were slowly circling the room.

Almost two hundred pairs of eyes followed the slow arc of the weapons through the air.

"Matthew, lad...put the guns down." Arthur spoke gently, taking a half-step forward from amongst the circle of nation-people, hands raised in a peaceful gesture.

The instant he moved, one of the guns snapped round to train the blank eyes of its muzzle on his forehead, even as its partner continued its slow prowl around the room. "Shut up, England." The name was spat like an epithet.

The Briton froze, green eyes locked on the deceptively elegant firearm held by a slender hand that was impossibly steady for the gentle young man it belonged to. "Please." He swallowed the nervous lump in his throat. "Whatever happened, we can fix it."

"Fix it?" The Canadian stared at him for a moment, before giving a bark of laughter that cracked out like a breaking branch. "Silly England, I thought you were always saying an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure? You had plenty of time to administer that ounce, after all. All of you did." The violet gaze surveyed the assembled nations with the sharpness of a knife edge, both guns drifting with his stare.

"Matthew, I don't know what you're talking about." Arthur said softly, trying to keep the dread from his voice. "Let us help you and everything will be alright a-"

The reaction was immediate and violent, both guns whipping together to point at England as Canada focused his attention entirely on the European nation. "Alright?" The barbed-wire grin stretched wide. "When have I ever been alright?" The Briton's mouth felt suddenly dry as he stared down the twin barrels.

Matthew took a step closer. "Never, actually." He answered himself after pretending to stare thoughtfully at the ceiling for a moment. Another step. "I've never been alright." Two more steps toward England."But you wouldn't know that, would you?" Three more steps, two cold circles of metal now pressed ever-so-lightly to the older man's forehead. "After all, you never asked."

"Four hundred years, England." The Canadian spat the name again. The razor-edge eyes, the too-still hands, the horrifyingly cheery lilt to his voice, put the trapped man in mind of a clockworks that had been wound far too far, so tight that now the pieces and casing were cracking apart and would shortly, inevitably, bust to rain shards of themselves on anyone nearby. "Four hundred years and not one person ever asked if I was alright."

"I'm sorry." Arthur whispered, scrabbling at the crumbling pieces. "I'm so sorry."

Another bark of laughter like a tree snapping in a gale. "Sorry? Only words, England." The muzzles of the guns were suddenly gone from the Briton's forehead. One had come to rest against the Canadian's temple, hammer cocked and ready, as its partner was offered, handle-first, to the older man. "You missed your chance at the ounce of prevention. Do you have it in you to administer the pound of cure and make things 'alright'?" He raised an eyebrow, voice almost sing-song and the grin never fading.

Frightened, angry, confused green eyes locked onto hard, bitter, lonely violet. Two guns offered a choice between two lives.

England hesitated a second too long. For a moment, the violet eyes lost their steel and the wicked grin lost its sharpness and the old Matthew was standing there, looking lonelier than anyone could ever imagine possible. "Yes," he whispered sadly. "That's what I thought."

Someone might have shouted, but nothing could be heard over the deafening crack that echoed across the room. The two guns clattered to the floor, chambers falling open. One contained a single spent shell. The other, nothing at all.

England jolted upright in his bed, gasping and shaking with the sound of a body falling to the floor still echoing in his head. Darkness greeted him, penetrated only by the red glow of a digital clock displaying the early hour. "Just...just a dream..." He breathed raggedly, trembling fingers knotting in the bedsheets. But no quantity of self-reassurances would shake the dream from his mind, or chase away the thought that it had seemed far, far too real.

"Matthew! A moment, please!" The Briton ran after his former colony, walking far ahead down the corridor to the meeting hall. He dodged past other nations, catching up to the younger man a moment later.

The Canadian halted, looking at him in surprise as he hugged his briefcase to his chest. "Arthur? What is it? Did you need something?"

"Actually..." The European tried to catch his breath. "I just wanted to check up on you. Are you alright?"

There was a pregnant pause as worried, concerned, caring green eyes locked onto startled, pleased, grateful violet. Matthew smiled broadly, looking happier than Arthur could ever remember seeing him. "Yes, I'm quite alright, thank you." Arthur smiled back, relieved.

"Oh, the meeting's about to start." Canada gestured down the hall. "Go on ahead, I forgot something in the lounge." Before England could protest, the younger man had disappeared down the hall. The Briton stared after him for a moment, before giving a shrug, a smile, and turning his thoughts to the meeting, while making a mental note to check up on the other more often. Last night's dream had almost certainly been just that, a dream, but just in case...an ounce of prevention was worth a pound of cure, after all, and it wouldn't hurt to know more about the lad.

A safe distance away, Matthew ducked into a side hallway. Looking around warily, he set his briefcase on a table and flicked open the worn clasp. Atop the stacks of papers inside, two handguns gleamed at him.

With a gentle smile, he picked up one of the guns and shook out the single bullet before shoving both weapons into another compartment of the briefcase, out of sight and out of the way until he could get rid of them. He was still smiling as he arrived at the meeting, and when it ended with Arthur inviting him for tea. "To check up on you." The other said."And make sure you're alright."

"Yes." He answered. "I'm alright."


End file.
